


How The World Seemed To Burn

by HunterByDayWhovianByNight



Series: Love Is A Mighty (Strong) Thing [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, First Time, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14238699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight
Summary: "...and Father said That's sad too people cannot do anything that dreadful they cannot do anything very dreadful at all they cannot even remember tomorrow what seemed dreadful today..." —William FaulknerSteve can't remember not loving Bucky, not wanting him by his side.





	How The World Seemed To Burn

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour with no edits, so... there's that. Upon a re-read, I found that the style was a bit Faulkner or Ondaatje-esque. I got a little emo whilst writing this, but that's beside the point. Infinity War is in 21 days! I'm so excited for it to finally come out. Title is from "Burn" by Lin-Manuel Miranda.
> 
> ~Hunter

Steve sat at the chair by the large window in his room and glanced over his shoulder at his bed. Bucky was lying in there, only half-covered by the sheets and blankets. The vibranium of his arm was illuminated by the moonlight and the bright city lights of Wakanda. Bucky looked beautiful, his muscular form rising and falling with each breath and his hair mussed against the pillow. It was amazing and overwhelming to think that finally, Steve was able to lay his hands and mouth on the man he’d loved and desired for so many years.

Steve smiled to himself as he remembered the night’s events, and the same heat from before rose in his stomach. Bucky had been below him, receptive and sensitive to every touch, kiss, and movement. He, no, _they_ had only waited their whole lives for that. The potential tragedy of one or both of them dying hung over Steve’s head like the most rainy of days and cloudy of skies; that thought alone may have been enough to subconsciously push Bucky into Steve’s arms and vice versa. They had been rather hurried and rushed in the beginning before they both began to slow down, enjoy this and each other, and slowly nudge each other to a long-awaited climax. It was like they were trying to savor every last second with each other like it was their last.

It hurt Steve to think about dying when he and Bucky had just joined together again. They both had waited so long, and there had been far too many missed opportunities. When they finally were _together_ and Bucky had been as willing as any girl would have been, Steve finally knew what it was like for love to drive you crazy, because he couldn’t get enough of Bucky. He couldn’t get enough of his touch, of his body, of his _everything._

It felt so right, yet at times it felt so unchaste and obscene. But Steve knew deep in his gut that it was love. Bucky was a man, yes, but he was more than that to Steve. Bucky was the kid from Brooklyn who never knew when to quit and would always fight for Steve, and that’s why he loved him. Did that make Steve’s love for him so wrong? Was it really so profane and so terrible that Steve loved him and wanted, desired, needed him? If a woman could love a man in this same way, then Steve could love Bucky. Steve couldn’t not love him. It was in his blood, in his nature, really, to do so. Steve felt like he was born to love Bucky and Bucky alone; if that was the truth, then Steve didn’t mind at all.

Steve stood and moved to sit beside Bucky’s sleeping body on the bed. There was no need for modesty here, in the cover of night, in the privacy of their shared room. Steve touched the marred skin where Bucky’s shoulder meets his metal arm, danced his fingers down the curvature of his muscles. He glanced down at the sharp, tapered jut of Bucky’s hip bones from his slim hips and his eyes fell to Bucky’s latent cock, the one he’d touched only hours ago. Steve smoothed out Bucky’s hair, dragged his fingertips down Bucky’s cheekbone, jawline; the stubble was barely peeking out of the skin. He used to do this, during what seemed like a thousand fanciful years ago, as Bucky slept in the cot next to him or as Bucky shared his tiny bed in his mother’s apartment when they were teenagers. It was only when Bucky was deeply asleep; he couldn’t bear to do it and have Bucky awaken, but now, it seemed like if Bucky awoke to Steve’s fingers on his face he wouldn’t care.

It took all of Steve’s being not to rouse Bucky awake, hold him in his arms and claim his lips in a kiss. He had to let Bucky sleep, had to let him rest. As he watched Bucky sleep, Steve couldn’t help but feel more love surge in his heart for the other man. He’d been able to overcome his brainwashing and gain some of his old memories back. Steve wished he could tell Bucky everything about their pasts and how close they were, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him. When they were lying in post-coital bliss, sated and in love and emotional, Steve wanted to pour out his heart to Bucky, but then Bucky began to talk about how he felt that same way and Steve laid there wordlessly, so mesmerized by Bucky’s words that he forgot all of his own. Bucky had the tendency to do that to him.

In Bucky, Steve saw the whole world. His whole world, dreaming and dormant, beside him. Bucky has always been his whole world. Back when they were kids, when they were in the war, when they were fighting each other and alongside each other. Bucky got to fight for Steve when they were younger and all Steve wanted was to fight for Bucky in that same way, but the current situation made death seem like Steve’s next step.

Steve wanted so desperately to kiss Bucky again and make love to him, feel the warmth of Bucky in his arms and all over. Steve couldn’t shake the thought, though, that this could have been the first, last, only time they are together like this. He wants it again, again, _again_. Steve was glad that Bucky was his first and only; he didn’t care that Bucky had been with others. All that mattered was that they had shared that moment together. It was something he could have only dreamed of. Was this a dream? Was this even reality? And is that why Steve felt so right here with Bucky, because it was a dream and things such as these are only okay in dreams? And, then again, if this was a dream…

Did that matter, too?

**Author's Note:**

> me, in ya brain: kudos/comment on this fic  
> you: but why  
> me, in ya brain: you gotta
> 
> ~Hunter


End file.
